Paulo Coelho - Aleph

“I need to do something very important for us both. You remember the Aleph? Well, I need to go through the door that frightened us both so much.”

“And what should I do?”

“Nothing. Just stay by my side.”

I begin to imagine the ring of golden light moving up and down my body. It starts at my feet, goes up as far as my head and then back again. At first, I find it hard to concentrate, but gradually the ring begins to move more quickly.

“May I speak?”

Of course she can. The ring of fire is not of this world.

“There’s nothing worse than being rejected. Your light finds the light of another soul, and you think that the windows will open, the sun will pour in, and all your old wounds will finally heal. Then, suddenly, none of that happens. Perhaps I’m paying the price for all those men I hurt.”

The golden light, which had come into being by dint of sheer imagination—a well-known way of getting back to one’s past lives—is now beginning to move of its own accord.

“No, you’re not paying the price for anything. Neither am I. Remember what I said on the train, about how we’re experiencing now everything that happened in the past and will happen in the future. In this precise moment, in a hotel in Novosibirsk, the world is being created and destroyed. We’re redeeming all our sins, if that’s what we choose to do.”

Not only in Novosibirsk but everywhere in the Universe, time beats like God’s vast heart, expanding and contracting. She draws closer, and I feel her small heart beating, too, ever louder.

The golden ring around my body is moving faster now. The first time I did this exercise, right after reading a book about “discovering the mysteries of past lives,” I was immediately transported to mid-nineteenth-century France and saw myself writing a book on the same subjects I write about now. I learned what my name was, where I lived, what kind of pen I was using, even the sentence I had just written. I was so scared that I returned at once to the present, to Copacabana, to the room where my wife was sleeping peacefully by my side. The following day, I found out everything I could about the person I had been and, a week later, decided to meet myself again. It didn’t work. And however often I tried, I failed every time.

I spoke to J. about it. He explained that there is always an element of “beginner’s luck,” conceived by God simply to show that it’s possible, but after that, the situation goes into reverse and returns to what it was before. He advised me not to try again unless I had some really serious issue to resolve in one of my past lives—otherwise, it was just a waste of time.

Years later, I was introduced to a woman in São Paulo. She was a very successful homeopath who had a deep compassion for her patients. Whenever we met, I felt that I had known her before. We talked about this feeling, which she said she shared. One day, we were standing on the balcony of my hotel, gazing out at the city, and I proposed doing the ring-of-fire exercise together. We were both projected toward the door I had seen when Hilal and I discovered the Aleph. That day, the homeopath said good-bye to me with a smile on her face, but I never spoke to her again. She refused to answer my phone calls or to see me when I went to her clinic, and I soon realized that there was no point in insisting.

The door, however, was open; the tiny crack in the dike had become a hole through which the water was beginning to gush forth. Over the years, I met three other women whom I also felt I had known before, but I didn’t make the same mistake again and performed the ring-of-fire exercise alone. None of those women knew that I was responsible for some terrible event in their past lives.

The knowledge of what I’d done didn’t paralyze me, though. I was determined to put it right. Eight women had been the victims of that tragedy, and I was sure that one of them would eventually tell me how the story had ended. I knew almost everything, you see, apart from the curse that had been put on me.

That was why I had set off on the Trans-Siberian Railway and, more than a decade later, plunged once more into the Aleph. The fifth woman is now lying by my side, talking about things that no longer interest me because the ring of fire is spinning faster and faster. No, I don’t want to take her with me back to where we first met.

“Only women believe in love; men don’t,” she says.

“Men do believe in love,” I say.

I am still stroking her hair. Her heartbeat is slowing now. I imagine that her eyes are closed, that she feels loved and protected, and that the idea of rejection has vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Her breathing slows, too. She moves, but this time merely to find a more comfortable position. I move as well, to replace the ashtray on the bedside table; then I fold her in my arms.

The golden ring is spinning incredibly fast from my feet to my head and back again. Then suddenly I feel the air around me vibrating, as if there had been an explosion.

THE LENSES OF MY EYEGLASSES are smeared. My fingernails are filthy. The candle scarcely gives off enough light for me to make out where I am, but I can see that the sleeves of the clothes I’m wearing are made of coarse fabric.

Before me is a letter. Always the same letter.

Córdoba, July 11, 1492

My dear,

We have few weapons left, but one of these is the Inquisition, which has been the target of vicious attacks.

The bad faith of some and the prejudices of others would have people believe that the Inquisitor is a monster. At this difficult and delicate moment, when this supposed Reform is fomenting rebellion in homes and disorder in the streets, slandering the court of Christ and accusing it of torture and other monstrous acts, we are still the authority! And authority has a duty to impose the maximum penalty on those who harm the general good, to amputate the infected limb from the ailing body and thus prevent others from following its example. It is therefore only right that the death sentence should be imposed on those who, by continuing to spread heresy, cause many souls to be hurled into the fires of Hell.

These women believe they are at liberty to proclaim the poison of their evil ways, to preach lust and Devil worship. They are nothing but witches! Spiritual punishments are not always enough. Most people are incapable of understanding them. The Church must—and does—have the right to denounce what is wrong and to demand radical action from the authorities.

These women have come to separate husband from wife, brother from sister, father from children. The Church is a merciful mother, always ready to forgive; our one concern is that these women should repent so that we can deliver their purified souls to the Creator and, as if by a divine art—through which one can read the inspired words of Christ—carefully mete out their punishments until they confess to their rituals and machinations and to the spells they have cast on the city, which is now plunged into chaos and anarchy.

This year, we managed to drive the Mohammedans back into Africa, guided as we were by Christ’s victorious arm. They had almost become the dominant power here, but Faith helped us win every battle. The Jews fled, too, and those who stayed will be converted, by force if necessary.

Worse than the Jews and the Moors was the treachery of those who claimed to believe in Christ but betrayed us. They, too, will be punished when they least expect it; it is only a matter of time.

Now we need to concentrate our efforts on those who, like wolves in sheep’s clothing, have so insidiously infiltrated our flock. This is your chance to show everyone that evil will never go unnoticed, because if these women succeed, the news will spread, a bad example will have been set, and the wind of sin will become a hurricane. We will be so weakened that the Moors will return, the Jews will regroup, and fifteen hundred years of struggle for the Peace of Christ will be buried.